


that golden rule

by dizzyondreams



Series: friends with benefits au [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyondreams/pseuds/dizzyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren shaved Jean’s head on Wednesday night, both of them still exhausted from a late night and bruised from fighting. Eren’s knuckles were scraped and bloody but his fingers were gentle as he ran his hand through the mop of hair on Jean’s head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that golden rule

**Author's Note:**

> [listen to this whilst reading](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZa-_Kx-O5s)   
>  [and this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JU0NU_vK5tk)

Eren shaved Jean’s head on Wednesday night, both of them still exhausted from a late night and bruised from fighting. Eren’s knuckles were scraped and bloody but his fingers were gentle as he ran his hand through the mop of hair on Jean’s head.

“Getting long.” He said, and tipped his head in askance to a question he didn’t have to ask. Jean nodded and followed him to the bathroom, wondering when they started speaking mostly in silent cues to each other.

Jean pulled his shirt over his head, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles, as Eren dug around in the bathroom cabinet for the razor. He caught sight of himself before he sunk into the empty bath, the ugly purple bruise spreading across his ribcage looking malignant, ill. He breathed in deeply, watching his ribs expand to press against his skin, and winced as a sharp burst of pain ran along his side.

“I think you’ve broken a rib.” Eren said conversationally, not looking up as he untangled the cord for the razor. Jean shrugged and folded himself up in the bath, hugging his knees to his chest and ignoring the flare of pain as he did so.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He muttered, and scooted forward as Eren settled on the edge of the bath, razor held aloft. Jean looked down at his bare feet and ignored Eren’s steady gaze on the back of his head. “I haven’t broken it, it’s just bruised.”

“You wanna smoke?” Eren asked after a moment of silence, and when Jean nodded he leant to snag his jacket from where he’d dumped it on the floor. “You know, you should stop picking fights with bigger guys.” Eren chided him as he dug through his pockets for a lighter. Jean just grunted in reply and picked at the scabs on his knuckles. “Because that means _I_ have to fight guys bigger than me.” Eren handed him a cigarette and lit it for him, eyes heavy on Jean’s.

“You don’t have to jump in.” Jean muttered, exhaling smoke through his nose as Eren turned the razor on. “I could’ve handled it myself.”

“You didn’t look like you were handling it yourself.” Eren muttered, tilting Jean’s head to the side gently. The razor buzzed against his scalp, Jean could feel it in his teeth, in his brain. It was a satisfying numbness equal to getting the shit beaten out of you, only without the adrenaline rush. Jean smoked and watched the ash blond hair fall into his lap.

“I don’t get why you do it.” Eren said after a minute of silence broken only by the buzzing of the razor. His fingers were gentle on Jean’s bruised jaw, and Jean wondered when exactly they’d started being this _domestic_. He supposed he’d crash on Eren’s couch tonight, or maybe his bed if either of them were feeling up to sex. He pressed his fingers to the bruise on his ribcage and smiled grimly. 

“I thought you’d understand why.” He said finally, when Eren’s expectant silence had drawn out long enough. 

Eren took a long time to reply, his hand steady on the side of Jean’s head so he couldn’t turn to see his expression. Eren shaved away in silence for a minute, before balancing the razor carefully on the edge of the bath. His hand was cupped possessively around the back of Jean’s neck, his blunt fingernails scratching absently over Jean’s bristly nape. 

“I understand why, Jean.” He said quietly, and brushed a lock of hair off Jean’s collarbone before retreating, leaving Jean alone in an oasis of his own thoughts, a mere warm presence at his back. “I think I understand better than you.”

Jean just grunted, hated this zen, all knowing bullshit Eren pulled sometimes. Like he knew Jean better than Jean knew himself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the soap holder aggressively.

Eren finished off his haircut, shaving off a tiny patch of hair behind Jean’s ear before flipping the razor off and slapping Jean smartly on the back of the head. “Like a monkey, ready to be shot into space!” Jean cursed and shoved him away, rubbing the back of his head. “Space monkey!” Eren crowed, as Jean pushed him from his perch on the side of the bath and sent him tumbling to the floor. He laughed up at Jean, expression easy and relaxed, and Jean felt a little ball of warmth bloom in his chest. The tension in the air eased, and Jean scrubbed his fingers through his new short hair, tugging on the longer strands at the top.

“How can you be making Fight Club jokes at a time like this?” He mumbled, leaning on the edge of the tub, chin propped on his crossed arms. Eren shrugged, picked a strand of hair off his tongue, laughed.

“Because you take yourself so goddamn seriously all the time, man.” He picked himself up of the floor and gave Jean a hand up. “Someone’s gotta keep it light, Jesus.”

Jean didn’t bother arguing. He was too tired and too fucking low to get into an argument. He just shrugged his t-shirt back on, tugging at the collar to dislodge stray hairs from his shoulders and neck. 

“Wanna catch something on TV?” Eren asked casually, ducking into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. Jean watched his ass as he bent over but couldn’t really bring himself to initiate anything. His ribs were aching for real now, a dull slow burn that leeched through his entire body. He took a couple of painkillers, swallowed them dry and grimaced at the bitter taste. Eren was still watching him, head cocked to the side. Jean shrugged and nodded.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll probably fall asleep anyway.”

Eren was a serial channel changer, so Jean mostly watched him flip through the channels, never watching any more than five minutes of each. Middle of a war documentary, a music video with girls gyrating on cars, ten minutes of a cartoon Jean didn’t recognise. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, Jean ignoring the little looks Eren would steal every few minutes. The space between them seemed vast, not even Eren’s feet in his holey socks closing the gap. 

Gradually, over the course of the night, as Eren’s channel flipping slowed down and Jean’s eyelids drooped with tiredness, they gravitated towards each other. Eren slumped down, remote held limp in his hand, head in Jean’s lap. Jean threaded his fingers through Eren’s unruly mop of hair, brushing the strands back from his neck, twisting little braids in the underside. Eren would bitch him out tomorrow for it, but currently he was making appreciative little sounds against Jean’s thigh, toes curling in the couch as Jean scratched his fingers through his hair.

“You’re like a cat.” He muttered tiredly, and Eren just grunted and burrowed his face into Jean’s leg.

“Don’t stop.” He said, voice muffled and languid. Jean watched the light of the TV flicker over his features and felt a traitorous warmth swell up in him. Getting all warm and fuzzy over how Eren looked in the light of fucking, Dance Moms, was not what Jean wanted. He’d been increasingly careful of the Warm and Fuzzies, especially recently.

He trailed a finger over the bruising on Eren’s jaw and smiled when he turned his head to catch the tip of Jean’s finger between his teeth. They froze like that for a minute, the tip of Eren’s tongue warm and wet against Jean’s fingertip. Eren’s big green eyes preternatural in the dark of the room and the glow of the television. 

“You wanna go to bed?” Eren murmured when Jean took his hand away, expression unreadable in the darkness. Jean shrugged and raised his eyebrows, and Eren tilted his head in response. Another one of their silent exchanges. _I’m tired, but we can anyway. If you’re sure._

Truthfully, Jean didn’t want to fuck. Not tonight. His ribs hurt, his knuckles hurt, his face hurt. A low key headache was building up behind his eyes from watching TV without his glasses. Still, he followed Eren into his bedroom, flicking off the TV as he passed and pulling his shirt off as Eren collapsed into bed and began the process of grappling with his skinny jeans. 

“You got class in the morning?” Eren asked, balling up his t-shirt and chucking it before burrowing underneath the covers in his underwear. Jean followed suit, kicking Eren in the ankle as he pressed his cold toes to Jean’s shin. 

“No.” Jean answered shortly, gripping Eren by the hips to drag him closer and press a kiss to his throat. Eren hummed happily. 

“Cool, we can lie in.” 

Jean nodded, caught the skin of Eren’s shoulder between his teeth, let his hand skate down Eren’s flat stomach to hook in his waistband. Eren exhaled shakily, hips tipping up into Jean’s hand seemingly involuntarily, if the way he was pushing Jean back was any indication. 

“Jean,” His voice was unsure, those laser green eyes worried through darkness. “Doesn’t your side hurt?” 

It did, like hell. Like a shard of glass in his side. Jean just shrugged, not wanting to be kicked out of bed. He wanted to make Eren come so he could curl up to him, sleepy and soft and post-orgasmic. Pretend this was like a real relationship, or something. “It’s fine.” 

Eren curled his fingers over Jean’s wrist and pulled his hand away. “Jean, you’re not fine.” His hair stuck out in a crazy dark halo around his head from Jean’s fingers pushing through it. He looked ridiculous, but serious. Jean drew away slightly. “We don’t have to- I mean…I don’t want-” He cut himself off and scowled. “Let’s just.” 

He nudged Jean until he turned over on his side with his back to Eren, slightly bemused. He wondered if Eren was gonna sleep with his back to him too, but jumped when Eren pressed up against his back, one arm curled over his side gently, the other folded between their bodies. 

“Just, like this.” Eren whispered in his ear, his voice faint but oddly tender. His fingers tapped out a gentle rhythm against Jean’s skin, light enough that it didn’t hurt his bruising. Jean could feel Eren’s hair tickle the back of his neck as he pressed a kiss to his nape. “It doesn’t always have to be fucking.” He said, with a little huff of a laugh. 

Jean stared straight ahead, keeping his body perfectly still and scowling as a lump formed in his throat, strangling him silent. This, whatever it was between them, _this_ had never been cuddling. It hadn’t been gentle touches and sharing a bed, silent conversations and warm mornings filled with the smell of Eren burning the bacon, just like Jean liked it. When did Eren learn how Jean liked his bacon? When did Jean learn that Eren liked to sleep on his back, and snored unless he pushed him on his side? When had they evolved past friendly arguments and fucking because they were bored? When had Jean begun to wonder what Eren’s favourite colour was, had begun to associate cheap drugstore shampoo with Eren’s mass of warm brown hair? It was all a mystery, and Jean blamed Eren for fucking up what could have been a decent friends-with-benefits situation and making him develop _feelings_. 

“Jean, it’s fine.” Eren said sleepily, kneading Jean’s bicep lazily. Like he knew what Jean was thinking. The thought was oddly comforting. 

“Why?” He murmured, past the tight lump in his throat, his voice coming out embarrassingly tight. 

Eren’s hand stilled on his arm, limp and slightly sweaty against his skin. “Why what?” He asked, tone bemused. Jean half wanted to turn so he could see his expression but wanted to hide his own. 

“Why doesn’t it always have to be fucking?” 

Eren was silent for a minute, his hand slipping off Jean’s arm to wrap around him, palm pressed against the rapid fire beat of his heart. “Maybe because I like you more than just a casual fuck.” Eren said after a while, his words slow and measured, as if he was thinking about them before he spoke. That in itself was strange enough, Eren was the sort of person who spoke before he thought; a rapid fire barrage of pointless facts and dramatic statements and just plain inane observations. Jean shuffled back a little, making himself comfortable between the ache of his ribs and the pounding of his head. 

“Okay.” He muttered. Mind a mess of questions, he relaxed against Eren, finally. The room was dark and warm, and Jean could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock from down the hall. He wondered what time Eren’s roommates were going to be home, if at all. 

Soon after, Eren fell asleep, a warm, dead weight against Jean’s back, leaving him to ponder that statement in the comforting circle of Eren’s arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was brought to you by a 10 hour loop of a cruel angel's thesis can u tell


End file.
